Just Like Always
by LoverFaery
Summary: Based on a dream I had. Harry has a dream that freaks him out. Rated Kplus for AngstAlert.


Disclaimer: All you see here belongs to J.K. Rowling. Except for the dream part, which belongs to my messed up brain, and the words, which belong to the English Language.

This is for Sharon, who will never get to see who wins our bet over whether Sirius is _really_ alive or the kind of dead that sticks.

It's based on a dream I had; in fact, Harry's dream is almost verbatim my dream. Except for the people in it, who once again belong to J.K. (see Disclaimer.) So if it doesn't make sense, blame Morpheus. Not me.

Just Like Always

At first, Harry sees only Sirius, surrounded by the ethereal glow of the sun. Then, his view widens so he sees Ron and Hermione flanking them. Just like always.

"C'mon, Harry, let's go down into Hogsmeade." Ron says, impatient to get on with the fun part. "This time isn't just about seeing Sirius, you know, it's our Hogsmeade weekend, too."

Hermione mutters quiet agreement, but admonishes Ron for being so insensitive to Harry's desire to see his godfather, just like always.

Harry sighs and gives Sirius the Look, the Look that means 'I know they're my friends but I can't control them' and 'you better change to Padfoot now.'

Sirius smiles and his body lengthens, bends, hair sprouts all over. Then there is a giant black dog running in circles around Harry, in his excited dog way saying "Come on, let's go! I'm ready to go, are you ready to go? I want to go! Okay! Let's go!"

Harry laughs gently and roughly pats the dog's head, ruffling the dark fur beneath his fingers. Padfoot pants his approval and trots ahead.

Just like always.

But something isn't just like always this time. Harry can't quite put his finger on it, but there's unrest in his bones. Something niggles at the back of his mind and a tiny voice says _this isn't right_. Harry pushes them both away. _No,_ he thinks, _this IS just like always. Nothing is wrong. Everything's perfect. If only I could go live with Sirius…_

And he's back into his hopes and dreams, that someday Sirius will be exonerated and they can go live together…

"Harry, mate. Earth to Harry." Ron says, snapping his fingers in the other boy's face. "Where are we going? You've just walked right past Zonko's, and we all know that there's not much out that way other than the Hog's Head."

"Hm." Harry replies. He stops, turns around, and walks back toward Honeyduke's. "I'm in the mood for something sweet." He says. "Let's see how much of Honeyduke's Finest we can get for seven sickles." He matches half of the amount Ron has in his bag, so Ron won't feel poor by comparison. Just like always.

They go into the sweetshop, and cram their bags with all sorts of wizarding confections. Padfoot looks on in doggy amusement and every so often noses something into Harry's basket. This, too, is just like always.

But Harry's still preoccupied. The little whisper in the back of his head has begun to yell at him now, screaming _THIS ISN'T RIGHT. SOMETHING IS WRONG. LISTEN TO ME!_ Harry still tries to ignore it, but the itch inside his brain has begun.

Once they've made all their purchases, laughing, talking, having fun, they trot back up to the cave for a human goodbye and some snacking on their candy.

"Mmmm, Harry, these Caramel Crocodiles are my favorite." Hermione titters, pushing one at him. "Try it. It's delicious."

He tries the confection du jour. Something isn't right. The voice in his head is reaching fever pitch. _WRONG WRONG WRONG. ALL OF THIS IS WRONG!_ He can't taste the caramel treat. He hands it back to Hermione with a noncommittal sound that could be taken for agreement that 'it's delicious.'

"I prefer the Chocolate Spotted Owls, myself." Sirius replies conversationally. "All of the taste with none of the sticking to the teeth. Have some." And Sirius showers them all with handfuls of his selected candy, just like always. The three kids unwrap them and bite into them all at once.

Harry still can't taste it. His memory is itching for that thing he's forgotten, that thing that's been bothering him all day. That thing that changes everything. And he can't remember, can't remember, can't remember…

The others agree with Sirius that it's far better than the others.

Sirius grins triumphantly, just like always.

Something in the back of Harry's skull explodes.

He knows what is wrong. What isn't right. Sirius is not supposed to be here. Sirius is DEAD. Sirius is DEAD DEAD DEAD. He fell behind that curtain in the Ministry. Harry looks at the Sirius sitting before him now with horror.

"How are you here?" He asks, the thoughts swarming in his head popping out of his mouth. It's compact, and simple. Not at all like the tangled jumble of confused and scared and sad thoughts in his brain, the thoughts that he thinks could make his head explode if he isn't careful to get them all out.

Sirius's face falls. "Harry," He says, walking closer to his godson, "Harry, didn't they tell you? Remus did a spell. It took me out of there. I'm back." Tears fall unchecked down his sallow cheeks, into his tangled hair.

Harry spreads his arms, asking for a hug. Sirius wraps the boy in his arms. Both are crying. "I'm sorry." Sirius whispers into Harry's hair. "I'm so, so sorry that they didn't owl you. That you didn't know. You should have been told. I can't believe you weren't told."

Harry squeezes his eyes shut. It is just like always, or it can be, next Hogsmeade weekend. Next Hogsmeade weekend they can be together again, and the weekend after that, and the weekend after that…

Aunt Petunia's shrill voice breaks his peaceful slumber.

"Boy," She calls up the stairs, "You better get down here and make us breakfast right quick! Dudley's going out with friends in an hour and because of you sleeping in, he could be late!"

Harry sits up in bed. A dream. It had all been a dream. It had to be, because Sirius is dead. Sirius is still dead. Sirius has been dead for three weeks. Harry is disgusted with himself for the hope in the dream. The hope that Sirius might still be alive.

A single tear falls from his left eye and onto his leg. He wipes it away angrily.

"Coming, Aunt Petunia!" He calls down the stairs. He pulls himself out of bed and throws on jeans and a sweatshirt, both of which have been Dudley's. They hang pitifully on him, but he has no time to look at himself in the mirror. He dashes down the stairs to start another day at Number Four, Privet Drive. Another boring day filled with Dursleys and pointless work. And no Sirius.

It is, he reflects, just like always.


End file.
